At the recent Fusion event put on by Dark Odyssey, I was to do a demonstration for a class of how to do a slow, hot, sexy rope scene. Because, after all, I’m totally qualified to show others how it’s done, right? (“Bris is the name, Hugh Bris”). I had stacked the deck in my favor by enlisting the delicious Naughty Em as my demo bottom, though, exploiting her weakness for leather and cock by wearing sexy leather boots and thin wrap-style pants, the kind that tie in front and in back and allow easy access. Topping off the domly ensemble was a sleeveless “Boston Rope” t-shirt. Sort of a “Mark Yu, Leatherman” ensemble.
As I began the scene Em slipped very quickly into that endorphin-cycle haze of neurochemicals we call “rope space.” Her clothes were soon gone, hemp had been tightly and slowly applied in all the right places, and a blade was in my hand, about to trace its sharp edge across her skin. As I was stepping around her I felt my foot catch on something. Looking down, I realized I was standing on the fabric of my pants.
“Oh,” I thought, “My pants leg came untucked.” These were loose pants, it was easy enough to imagine. But that was a drawstring tie down there that my boot was catching on. The tie that secured the back of my pants.
At that point that I realized that I was standing in front of the class with my ass hanging out of the back of my pants, half of which had fallen off without my noticing.
“No problem,” I thought. “You look goofy, but just undo the front and fling them off with wanton domly abandon.” My fingers quickly undid the front tie and attempted the fling – at which point I realized my pants were still quite securely tucked into my boots. Rather than fluttering sensually across the tent, my pants ended up in a clump around my ankles.
“OK, Gray. You’re standing in a t-shirt with your pants around your ankles in front of a class watching you demonstrate how to do hot rope. Not sexy. Options?” A Terminator-like menu of options dropped down in my mind, and I selected “Full Nudity” as preferable to “Scream ‘Fire!’ and Run” or “Use Evan’s Beard as a Merkin.” That meant the t-shirt had to go.
But I had a knife in one hand and an Em in the other. How to get the shirt off? Channelling my inner pirate, I put the knife in my mouth and pulled the shirt off my head with one arm.
Of course this knocked the knife out of my mouth and into the tangle of shirt as it was going over my head. It’s a good blade, a Scott Paul design, and really sharp. Sharp enough that I didn’t notice as it cut my bicep when the shirt came off. Somehow I managed to snag the blade back before tossing the garment away with the aforementioned wanton domly abandon.
Naked save for boots and pants around my ankles. Bleeding, too, though I wasn’t aware of it at the time. I could feel my Domly Power Level dropping quickly. However, I still had the knife in one hand, Em in the other, and a class that, if not enraptured by the hotness of the scene, was at least very interested in seeing how it all turned out. I decided that if I untucked just one pants leg, I would have enough mobility to finish off the scene. Grabbing Em by the back of the neck, I forced her lips to my boot, and set about freeing myself outside her field of view.
That’s when I saw the blood. A single drop, appearing on the lovely swell of white skin just to the side of her breast, under the lines of tight hemp.
Blood. Unplanned blood, and in fact, blood that I had not reference point for. Mine? Hers? “Blood…” I muttered, and I must have sounded confused, because Evan helpfully stage-whispered across the tent “You cut your arm!”
I looked down at my bicep, and sure enough, there it was, a thin incision, about an inch long, seeping blood. A quick wipe was all it took to staunch it…but that meant that now my hand was now a biohazard.
Naked in boots, trailing a pants leg, with a knife in one hand and a biohazard on the other, bleeding from a self-inflicted wound in front of a group of fairly experienced kinksters.
That’s some hot sexy rope, alright.
I finished the scene. By the end of it the pedagogical part of my mind had already spun it into “…and this is how you continue through even when unexpected things happen during the scene” to close the class with some modicum of…well, dignity was probably out of the question, but perhaps panache would suffice. I take some pride in the fact that Naughty Em only noticed that at a certain point my clothes were gone – the rest of the mishaps went entirely unnoticed.
And that’s the point, right? To have a good scene with the person you’re with? The series of unfortunate events doesn’t mean I’m a bad dom, any more than getting through them means that I’m a good one. I am simply Gray, and what happens happens and I just do my best whether things go exactly as planned or gang aft agley. Em and I are already hoping to do some more “agley play” soon.
That’s the point, I think. If it’s not personal evolution, or higher consciousness, or mind-blowing orgasm, it’s at least to get to the end of the scene and say “Yeah. I want to do more.” More of the same, or more of the different, it doesn’t matter – just that you’re willing to try again. That’s the reason we continue to fling hopes and heart’s desire against the rocks of new shores, looking for that soft beach of welcome that becomes the soul’s home. The kinky path is one of embracing your passion, if not fearlessly then at least enthusiastically.
Gang aft agley, my friends, and gang aft with gusto.